


The Taste of Ashes

by thornsilver



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 02:24:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16883862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornsilver/pseuds/thornsilver
Summary: Sometimes mistakes can be corrected.





	The Taste of Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted to LJ.

Mamoru was looking out of the window at the morning gloom of Tokyo, as he listened to the report. His office was in one of the tallest buildings in the city. The view was impressive.

"It looks like he walked for quite a while after being wounded without trying to request help. In fact, it is not until he lost consciousness that the passers by noticed the blood and notified the police. Do you believe that Abyssinian misjudged the situation?"

"Thank you, Rex. And no, I don't." He did not turn around as she deposited the file on his desk and left the office, closing the heavy door behind her. He didn't want her to see his face.

His assistant no doubt thought that Aya didn't seek help because he didn't realize the severity of the wound, or because he fell a victim to the level of paranoia where nobody and nothing was to be trusted, but Mamoru, who had once been Omi, still knew Aya better than that. It was one of the reasons he worked so hard to keep him busy lately. More than anything, Aya needed to be needed.

Alone, he picked up the folder and did not notice how strongly he was squeezing it, until he saw his knuckles become white with the effort. Two years ago everything was very clear. He was the last of the Takatoris, fated to don the mantle of Persia and to steer Kritiker, overjoyed at having a family at last.

His family, he must say, had proved something of disappointment. His Grandfather, the selfish manipulator that he was, was not even the worst of them. Lesser cousins, too far removed to lay claims on the Takatori name and his position in the organization, nevertheless played petty power games behind his back, games that only gotten worse since Grandfather's passing two month ago. He was just twenty-one years old, and they seemed to think this meant that he would be easily manipulated, conveniently forgetting that he had led an assassin team since the age of fifteen. And every time those games were played, people died caught in the crossfire. Mamoru's craving for simpler life of Omi Tsukiyono grew stronger the longer he remained Persia. He wanted back into that old life, back to the people who despite all odds have become his family. People whom he had failed.

Ken seemed to have found some kind of balance in prison, at least. He had been getting in fewer fights lately, yet Mamoru wasn't at all sure that his determined good cheer and an overwhelming obsession with soccer were that much of an improvement.

Yohji have been doing well, happy with his pretty wife and picturesque existence, freed from the memories he found so onerous before… Except lately, reports have been mentioning that he was having nightmares and losing weight again. After Yohji survived Epitaph, Nagi had made sure that Yoji's amnesia would not be lifted as Mamoru had requested. In retrospect, he suspected it was a mistake.

Aya had remained a dependable killer, as he always had been, and yet he did not pick up another sword to replace his lost katana. Mamoru should have seen that it was a danger sign. He should have realized what the deal with the church donations was. He should have given Abyssinian another team to worry over, despite the swordsman's objections.

He should have done a lot of things. They do say that hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Aya had survived this time. What about the next one? How could he leave Yohji to continue his existence in a lie? Didn't Ken deserve more then the dubious sanctuary of a prison?

The decision when it came was actually very easy. Omi carefully put the file on his desk, before booting up his computer. He still thought that the family should come first. He just had to reprioritize who qualified.

***

 

Omi was glad that hacking remained his hobby during his years as Takatori heir. The databanks that he was raiding were protected even from Persia's unauthorized access. He would have to make sure that nobody would notice and ask questions about his research.

The door to his office opened. Omi blanked out the screen before raising eyes to his visitor.

"It's almost midnight. What are you still doing here, Mamoru-san?"

Nagi Naoe changed during the years he had known him. At nineteen, he was taller than Omi, and handsome, especially compared to the delicate prettiness that seemed to be Omi's fate in life. They have been lovers for more than three years, yet Nagi never called him anything but Mamoru-san. Omi usually prevented himself from wondering if Nagi was sleeping with Mamoru or with Persia. Some things were better left unsaid, even if your partner was telepathic. If Nagi ever picked up on those doubts, he never mentioned it.

"Mamoru-san?" Omi realized he was staring like an idiot, not sure what to tell his lover-cum-bodyguard. And then he realized that he didn't have to say anything, as Nagi's lips tightened. "You can't be serious." The psychic was usually reluctant to use his telepathy. Omi wondered what Nagi saw in his face to try reading him.

"I am."

"And me?" And him… There was no love between them. Understanding, yes, maybe even friendship, but not love.

"You can't tell me you are happy here. You've been bored silly." Not much challenge for a telepathic telekinetic as a bodyguard, especially with Esset gone for good. "And you miss them. I know you do." After the mess with the Epitaph, the last two members of Schwartz made a point of staying out of Japan. "They are your family, aren't they?"

"Just like Weiss are yours." For the first time that he could remember Omi saw sadness in Nagi's face. "You will need help. Move over, please. I know some tricks that you don't."

***

 

This meeting, much like many others was called in secret. The four men and two women who stood the closest to the top of Kritiker hierarchy have been having them fairly regularly to decide on the best way of managing their new Persia.

Nobody invited Nagi Naoe.

All of them new enough about him to be weary. Some of them have even seen his powers in action. None of them questioned his loyalties. The heavy feeling of fear in the room was almost tangible.

The psychic put a pile of folders on the table, before facing them.

"I stand here before you, to bring you the message from Takatori Mamoru. The message is this: 'I have attempted to uphold the policies and ideas of Kritiker to the best of my ability, something that many of you found disagreeable. I am tired of fighting against the tide in my own organization. I am leaving Japan and resigning from Kritiker. Have it with my blessings. However, if you ever try to interfere with me and mine, you wouldn't even have time to regret it.' To prove that he is serious about it, Takatori-san has compiled some information about each of you." He tapped the folders lightly. "Feel free to peruse it."

They have lunged for the documents even before Nagi have left the room. Hopefully they will be too busy backstabbing each other for the position of Persia for a long, long time. Mamo… Omi will need some breathing space while he is picking up the pieces of his team.

***

Omi paused before the prison walls, Nagi a pocket of cool calm at his back.

"Are you sure you want to be here?", there being no love lost between him and Ken.

"You never know, you might need me. And you *will* need me for Yoji." Nagi will remain until Omi left Japan. Both of them were suspicious of Kritiker trying to terminate him while they thought they had a clear shot.

Omi breathed in deeply, before wrapping a cloak of Takatori Mamoru around himself. Time to break Ken out of prison.

This time the certainty that he was doing the right thing didn't require the weight of logical arguments. Perhaps it was a sign he should have looked for the first time around. The future that he envisioned was a far cry from his long ago fantasy of a traveling florist team. It would feel wrong to waste their skills like that. He will…. They can all work out the details later, after they are a family again.

This was, after all, only a beginning.


End file.
